


injuries are quite tame

by AncientGlory



Series: the misadventures of sherlock holmes and john watson [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hostage Situations, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sally Donovan & Sherlock Holmes Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AncientGlory/pseuds/AncientGlory
Summary: “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have got shot then,” John replied calmly, getting a Q-tip from the box that rested on the armrest by Sherlock. He continued to clean, noticing with satisfaction that the wound had stopped bleeding and that he was only cleaning the rest of it.Sherlock sniffed with disdain as he glared down at the doctor that kneeled by his side. “I didn’t have much of a choice, John.”





	injuries are quite tame

Sherlock let out a sharp hiss in protest under his breath from where he sat on his own chair, a cotton pad being roughly pressed onto his arm to remove the blood.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have got shot then,” John replied calmly, getting a Q-tip from the box that rested on the armrest by Sherlock. He continued to clean, noticing with satisfaction that the wound had stopped bleeding and that he was only cleaning the rest of it. 

Sherlock sniffed with disdain as he glared down at the doctor that kneeled by his side. “I didn’t have much of a choice, John.”

* * *

The killer he had been chasing for two weeks had held a hostage at gunpoint after he had tracked him down to an abandoned hospital that he had been using to keep the victims, and unfortunately, he had been chosen as the lucky target. He had his coat and suit jacket ripped off for some reason, and he was quite glad. He didn’t want them to get ripped or anything. Mycroft would surely tease him about that.

Luckily, he had the foresight to ask Lestrade for backup, and John had brought his gun. Sherlock glanced up to meet John’s eyes from where he knelt on the dirty floor with the man behind him, and they both silently agreed to take action on their own. He moved all of his fingers of his left hand while he held up his hands in surrender, counting down, the movement small enough to be missed by the killer that had been rambling about the obvious motivation of his to kill, only noticed by John and Donovan. In the back of his mind, he registered with annoyance that none of the police officers had paid attention to him, only to the quite frankly, terrible eulogy that the criminal had been sobbing out with snot and tears. 

“A-and, don’t forget to tell my wife that I left our daughter a gift and that the money was hidden-”

_ One.  _

He jammed his elbow into the man’s groin, and as he fell over, he had squeezed the gun’s trigger at the exact moment Sherlock had tried to scramble to his feet. The bullet was shot before he had any time to react, and it had grazed his right bicep before hitting the wall behind him. John swiftly smacked the gun out of the killer’s hand and pointed the gun to his head to keep him in his spot on the ground. 

Donovan sneered at the man, pulling out a pair of handcuffs as she handed her gun to Sherlock. She announced his rights and had one of the other officers bring him out to the waiting police force. 

“You alright, Sherlock? That thing must sting like a bitch, yeah?” Donovan nodded toward his arm.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and glanced at the rip in his shirt, blood staining it red in an odd pattern. He hadn’t registered the pain, the adrenaline still providing him with numbness. “Ah. I appear to have been shot. John, let us go back to Baker Street and have you tend to this.”

Donovan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sherlock in slight worry. “You sure you don’t want to have one of the paramedics take care of that? They’re right outside, you know.”

The consulting detective shook his head, walking to the corner where his coat and jacket had been thrown to. He dusted them off, and held them in the crook of his uninjured arm, being sure not to jostle it too much. “Thank you for the offer, Donovan, but I really do think I’ll be fine. After all, John is a doctor.”

John gave Donovan an apologetic smile as Sherlock walked by himself to the exit, and jogged to catch up to Sherlock.

“At least let me give you idiots a ride,” Donovan yelled as they were halfway down the hall.

* * *

“Yeah, but you could’ve done something about the gun first.” John sat back to check his handiwork, already finished rolling gauze around his injury. His met Sherlock’s eyes for a while with a soft gaze before beginning to pack away the emergency first-aid kit. “You really need to be more careful,” he muttered quietly as he trudged to the kitchen to place it near the sink, knowing fully well that Sherlock could hear him.

“I’ll try my best,” he answered, sighing, closing his eyes and laying his head back to rest it on the top of his chair. He left his arm where it was when John had moved it to place the white wrap on it, clearly exhausted. “But it’s very hard not to get injured in this line of work. I’m more surprised that this doesn’t happen more often than it should.” 

John made his way back, laying a warm hand on Sherlock’s mussed up curls to ruffle them even more. Sherlock’s eyes opened lazily, a smirk making its way onto his face. “You should be  _ glad  _ this doesn’t happen more often, you prick,” John said, returning a smile to his smirk. 

“Git.”

“Idiot.”

The two of them locked gazes for a while before chuckling together, the events before already a thing of the past. Another case solved. 

Mrs. Hudson knocked on their door, making her owl-like sound as she walked in. “Are you boys hungry? The nice police lady told me that Sherlock had gotten shot, the poor boy.” She walked into the kitchen, already starting up the kettle without a response. 

Sherlock sighed and batted John’s hand away from his head. “Not shot, Mrs. Hudson. Merely grazed. A trivial matter.”

“Trivial?” Mrs. Hudson squawked in disbelief. “Look at you! All wrapped up in bandages and whatnot,” she exclaimed, gesturing the rolled up sleeve that revealed his wound that had been tended to. “You should be lucky that I even gave you that first-aid kit, Sherlock, or you’d probably be bleeding out on the floor!” 

The pale man sighed once more. “Always with the over exaggerations,” he whispered to John, and the other man gently cuffed his head. 

Mrs. Hudson placed two cups of tea on the roundtable that was next to John’s chair and looked down in exasperation at Sherlock. “You really do need to be more careful, dear.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The older woman gave Sherlock’s arm a pat. “I’ll bring you up some leftover shepherd’s pie, how about that?”

John placed an arm around her shoulders, giving her a warm smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” She returned his smile. 

“Not a problem dear,” she murmured and made her way downstairs. 

He kissed the top of Sherlock’s head when she was gone, and sat in his own chair. 

“Prat,” Sherlock whispered, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Dear,” John replied. 

Sherlock was caught off guard by this comment, and a satisfying flush appeared on his face, his cheeks tinged pink. 

“Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> oof sorry for not updating as much but I've been in a bit of a dump recently.. enjoy!  
> ::AG::


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